


Coming home to you

by Nakeycatstakebaths



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Academic rivals, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fraternities & Sororities, Greek life au, Homecoming AU, falling asleep on one another, fraternity bellamy, idiots to lovers, one shot slow burn, sorority clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27854618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nakeycatstakebaths/pseuds/Nakeycatstakebaths
Summary: When Theta Gamma and Tau Delta Tau get paired together for ArkU homecoming week, all hell breaks loose. Mainly because their homecoming chairs, Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin, just can’t seem to get along.After years of rivalry in the poly sci department, their disagreements finally come to a head when they’re forced to choreograph synchronized dances, make lawn decorations, fundraise and campaign for their king and queen candidates together. They just can’t put their differences aside, no matter how hard they try...but that eventually leads to sanctioning by the school's homecoming committee. Desperate to not be disqualified, they pretend they’re dating.Apparently, they don’t hate each other as much as they thought.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 15
Kudos: 138
Collections: t100fic4blm Donation Celebration





	Coming home to you

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm back and I'm so excited! This fic is part of the t100 writers for BLM donation celebration initiative! Thank you to Ryn (@detectivebellamyblake/@animmortalist) for the absolutely gorgeous moodboard!!!!!!! Always an honor to work with such an incredible author and creator, love ya friend <3 
> 
> So the tropes I chose were: Falling asleep together, fake pretend relationship, and enemies to lovers! Obviously, this is also a college AU :) 
> 
> This is based loosely on my college experience! I combined Greek week with homecoming for this kind of combo thing haha, it was a fun bout of nostalgia so I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

"So which one of you wants to explain what happened," Kane sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

"Tread very carefully here because we can and will disqualify you if we see fit," Maya added, nodding primly as she jotted down notes in her brightly labeled binder. 

Clarke bit her lower lip, trying to look anywhere other than at Bellamy. If she could, she would've thrown something at Maya. She couldn't believe they'd gotten sanctioned by the Greek life association over something so petty. 

She's worked too hard, stayed up too many nights painting stupid floats to get disqualified. 

But there wasn't a good explanation for everything—-at least not one she could tell the homecoming committee. 

"Okay, well, if you don't feel like telling us, I'll just read through these reports…" Maya sighed, pulling open a thick binder with color-coded tabs. 

Beside her, Bellamy's hand tightened around his bicep, the veins popping out on the back of his hand. 

This wasn't going to go in their favor. 

***

  
_2 weeks prior_

Harper stood at the front of the chapter, trying to hide her smile as she read through the weekly announcements. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Clarke in the reflection of the back window. 

"If you want to go to formal, turn your service hours in to Jessica. Boxtops are no longer being counted for philanthropy, thanks to the bitches who ordered a shit ton from Amazon and ruined the system. So if you have a problem with that...you can take it up with them," she continued, nodding slightly to indicate that she was ready at any time. "If you want your formal date to get a wristband, please put them in the spreadsheet—" 

Within seconds, loud banging echoed from the outside windows, causing everyone to jump in surprise. Harper grinned, folding her arms across her chest and shrugging. The announcements could wait for another time, 

The upperclassmen roared with cheers, "Hoco! Hoco! Hoco!" And the new members stared back at Harper with wide eyes, pulling their planners to their chests as Clarke and her committee came running through the formal dining room with silly string and air horns. 

"Happy homecoming week, ladies," Clarke yelled, shooting one last spray into the crowd as she climbed up on the nearest table. 

The whoops and "fuck yeahs" grew louder. People stamped their feet and cheered while Clarke basked in the attention. 

Harper shook her head, taking a seat in the front row. There was nobody more fitting for this job than Clarke—that much was for sure. 

"As we all know, Theta Gamma has a reputation to maintain. For the past six years, we have absolutely destroyed homecoming," Clarke announced, now sitting on the edge of a table. 

More cheers and screams. 

With a sly smile, Clarke waved her phone in the air. In less than a minute, she would get an email with their fraternity pairing and the theme, the two key components to her success as a homecoming chair. 

Dragging things out for the sake of theatrics, Clarke frowned down at her phone and then back up at the crowd, even after she saw the little red notification appear at the top of her screen. 

"It's seven o'clock," someone yelled from their seat, waving their hand to keep things moving. 

With a sigh, Clarke clicked on the email. 

"Theta Gamma Delta and Tau Delta Tau," she read, not entirely processing what she said until the resounding cheers echoed through the room. 

Everyone seemed more than happy with their pairing. 

Everyone except Clarke. 

***

  
"I can resign," Bellamy snapped, crumpling a piece of paper in his fist and smacking it on a table. 

Behind him, a pledge dropped a chair, scrambling to pick it up when Bellamy and Murphy turned to glare. 

"Who the fuck am I supposed to put in charge then...Jasper?" Murphy snapped back, rubbing his temple with his thumb. "You’re being ridiculous.” 

Bellamy read over the email again, hoping it would somehow change the words. 

Tau Delta Tau and Theta Gamma Delta, Sitcoms. 

It just had to be Theta Gamma. 

“You don’t even know if—“ 

“Clarke Griffin is the homecoming chair,” Bellamy said firmly, not needing a confirmation to know that the bane of his existence would volunteer to do something time intensive and lightly masochistic. 

Murphy ran his hand through his long hair, the bags under his eyes seeming darker than usual. Apparently, being frat president and an engineering major was as hard as everyone said it would be. 

“Look, I don’t really have time to find someone else to do this, and I don’t trust anyone else to take this seriously,” he sighed, leaning back against the table. “We need to win this. Nationals is breathing down my neck after that busted porch party last month, and we need some good PR with the school. Like it or not, Theta Gamma knows what they’re doing.” 

Bellamy tried to suppress his groan, but it slipped out anyway. 

He didn’t want to make his best friend’s already stressful life any harder, but he already spent an unfortunate amount of time with Clarke—the last thing he wanted was to see her in his free time too. 

Before he could formulate a decent argument, his phone buzzed on the table. 

**Clarke Griffin:** “I’m just going to take a wild guess and assume you’re the homecoming chair.” 

Murphy patted him on the shoulder as he left the chapter room, the ghost of a smug smile carved into his cheeks. 

Stressed or not, he was enjoying seeing Bellamy squirm. 

**Bellamy Blake:** “Good guess princess.” 

**Clarke Griffin:** “Lucky me.” 

Like it or not, they were stuck with each other. At least it wouldn’t be boring. 

***

“This was a tough one,” the professor explained, writing out the grade distribution on the board as the TA passed back the exam papers. “There were a few high scores, but for the most part, there was a lack of understanding of the material.” 

Bellamy leaned back in his seat, trying not to show his satisfaction when he realized he was one of the high scorers. 

He’d taken a strong stance on the essay question, made a solid case for a progressive tax, and hoped that his professor didn’t disagree too strongly. 

Apparently, it was the correct move. 

As the class cleared out, the professor signaled for him to stay back. 

Eventually, only the two of them—and Clarke Griffin were left in the room. 

“I wanted to congratulate you both. I very rarely give out scores over 100%, but ironically you both took opposite stances on the progressive tax question and argued it beautifully on both ends,” he smiled, tapping the desk lightly. “It was a pleasure to grade these. It read almost like a debate.” 

Bellamy suppressed his eye roll as they both thanked the professor and made their way out of the room. 

Of course, they’d picked opposite stances on the topic. 

He and Clarke walked side by side in silence. Their houses were on the same street. It would be a long walk home unless one of them said something.

Bellamy glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, hoping it wasn’t too noticeable. She was so much shorter that he couldn’t see much other than her thick blonde curls and the soft swoop of her nose. 

It’d been a while since they’d been alone together, quietly, without bickering over the alumni foundation brunch menu or the meeting location of the student government association. 

The silence was almost deafening. 

He was used to her talking nonstop, to her yelling at him till her cheeks flushed a light pink, mouth twisting in a way that made the mole above her lip jump. 

But this—walking side by side with their test papers bumping against one another’s, he suddenly felt...awkward. 

“Did you think of anything for our theme?” Clarke asked, finally breaking the tense silence between them. 

Bellamy was grateful for it, glad to have an excuse not to examine the thoughts swirling through his head. 

“Sitcoms gives us a lot of room, but it’s going to be hard to be original,” he shrugged, folding his exam and tucking it into his back pocket. 

“Everyone and their cousin is going to try to do The Office,” Clarke agreed, rolling her eyes as they passed Greek row and moved into the senior housing. 

“And How I Met Your Mother, and The Big Bang Theory and Friends.” 

“So what does that leave us with?” 

“iCarly?” He chuckled, signaling for Clarke to follow him to his porch. 

She snorted in return, dropping her bag to settle on the swing, wincing when she realized the worn wood was slightly sticky from the party they’d had last weekend. 

They shot ideas back and forth—some ridiculous and some not. 

It was surprisingly enjoyable, brainstorming, and laying out in the fall sun. But as quickly as it came, it went, the second that they both came up with ideas that the other didn’t agree with. 

“I think we should do Schitt’s Creek,” Bellamy said, tapping a pencil against his leg. “It’s popular and easy enough to do.” 

“The Good Place leaves us with way more room to be weird!” 

“The Heaven and Hell theme has been done a million times, and that’s basically the same thing.” 

“Just because you threw a lukewarm Halloween party with that theme two years ago doesn’t make it overdone,” Clarke snapped, sitting up from the swing. 

The argument continued, repeating in circles and turning increasingly hostile as they moved along. 

It really wasn’t that serious, but they both hated to lose. 

Eventually, they called Miller out to be a tie-breaker. 

“I’m not about to be the bad guy here,” he said with a shake of his head, disappearing back into the house. 

“We could send out a survey?” Clarke tried, standing up out of the porch swing to pace in the grass. 

“Do you want to be the one to explain that to Harper and Murphy? Because I don’t.” 

At an impasse, they fell into silence once more, the only sound between them, the gentle creaking of the swing. 

“Should we just—“ they both said at the same time, pausing to allow the other room to speak. 

Clarke nodded her head, eyebrow raised like she was preparing herself from him to say something stupid. 

And even Bellamy had to admit that his suggestion was, in fact, stupid. 

But it didn’t seem like there were any other reasonable solutions. 

“We should flip a coin.” 

There was a beat of silence. 

And then Clarke started to laugh, genuinely laugh, so hard that she braced her palms on her knees to catch her breath. 

“Flip...a...coin,” she wheezed, pushing her curls out of her face. 

Bellamy was struck by the odd urge to tuck a piece of wispy blonde hair behind her ear. 

He pushed it down, focusing on finding a coin in the bottom of his backpack. 

“Unless you can think of something better, this is our best bet,” Bellamy continued, keeping his eyes trained on the coin, avoiding looking directly at Clarke twisting her hair into a bun. 

Clarke didn’t answer, just shrugged her shoulder, apparently resigned to the compromise. 

***

  
“Where are you going?” Harper asked, flopping down onto Clarke’s bed as she changed out of her striped long sleeve. 

Clarke held up a sundress, wondering if it was too formal to wear to run errands. 

This was ridiculous, she knew it, and yet she couldn’t help herself. 

“To the store,” She replied, dropping the dress and holding up a tiny white blouse. 

Harper's brow furrowed as she looked from the outfit back to Clarke, and then her eyebrow lifted, and a slow smile spread across her face. 

“Ohhh, these are homecoming errands,” she said smugly. “With a certain tall, dark, and handsome from Tau Delt.” 

Clarke rolled her eyes, shrugging on the white top and adjusting the shallow neckline around her boobs. Admittedly, it was pretty flattering. 

“I got a good grade on my policy exam. I just want to look cute.” 

“Mhmm, wear those new flare jeans you got. They make your butt look good,” Harper said, not bothering to even entertain Clarke’s excuse. 

“Bellamy is my least favorite person at this school,” Clarke mumbled, digging through her closet for the pair of jeans in question. 

It was at least partly the truth. 

Bellamy Blake had been the bane of her existence since the moment they stepped on campus. 

Their rivalry was solidified when they ended every classroom debate in a showdown and regularly completed for the highest scores in their major. 

He showed up everywhere she went, as a tour guide, in the alumni association, even on the club soccer team. 

And in every situation, they managed to find themselves butting heads. 

It came to a head their sophomore year when they were forced to share the “outstanding student” award, causing a legendary yelling match on the second floor of the liberal arts building. 

And because fate was a bitch, the next year, they were forced to become co-presidents of the student government. 

No matter where Clarke went, Bellamy Blake always seemed to be two paces away with his stupid floppy hair and smug smirk. 

She’d never known someone who got under her skin as easily as he did, but Clarke had also grown somewhat accustomed to his presence. As much as she hated to admit it, there were times when she found herself in a classroom with an empty desk beside her, missing Bellamy Blake. 

But he could never know that. 

After years of jabs and curated bickering, their dynamic was set in stone. There was no room for compromise, friendship, or—anything else. 

Even knowing that, she rubbed a layer of red lipstick onto her lips and let her curls loose from her ponytail. 

Harper chuckled but didn’t push it further, leaning over to hand Clarke a pair of gold hoop earrings from the dresser. 

Despite all her other feelings about homecoming and working with Bellamy, she wanted to feel that flash of heat again, the one that licked down her spine when she’d caught him watching her put her hair up. The same one that she felt when their bickering got so heated that he stepped into her breathing space. 

Her brain may be able to find a million and ten things wrong with Bellamy, but her body liked what it saw. 

Nobody could deny that he was—easy on the eyes. 

With one last look at her reflection, Clarke flopped down beside Harper. 

“You know that nobody is forcing you to hate him,” Harper nudged gently, still smiling as Clarke’s phone buzzed. 

“It’s just easier this way,” she shrugged, reading the message from Bellamy. 

“There is nothing easy about the two of you…” 

Clarke snorted, patting her best friend on the shoulder before she collected her purse and headed out to meet Bellamy. 

He was waiting in the driveway in a chipped pickup truck, a twanging, raspy rock song drifting through the windows and into the street. 

“Hey there, princess,” Bellamy called, propping his elbow in the lowered window to greet her. His bicep flexed with the movement, straining the already tight cuff of his olive green shirt. 

It took all of Clarke’s willpower to keep her eyes from lingering as she rounded the truck and climbed inside.

“Don’t call me that,” she sighed, keeping her gaze trained straight ahead. Part of her hated when he called her that, but in truth, she’d grown used to the nickname after all these years. 

In her peripheral, she could see the jump in Bellamy’s jaw where he was keeping a smile from crossing his lips. 

He looked over at her, corner of his smile ticking up for a fraction of a second before he turned his focus toward the road. 

“Did you make a list?” he asked, turning out of the campus and into the main intersection. 

“Yeah, I think we should go to the craft store, target, and Goodwill if we want to get costumes and all the decorations and stuff.” 

“Lowe’s would be best for the wood,” Bellamy agreed, listing off a few construction items they needed to add to the list. 

It all felt like it was going smoothly as they breezed through the craft store. 

For a moment, Clarke was having something resembling a good time. 

“Which one feels more Johnny Rose?” Bellamy asked, holding up two different sets of fake eyebrows. 

Even if it wasn’t her first choice, Clarke had to admit this was a good theme. She made a show out of scratching her chin, looking between the two before settling on the one that was more black than grey. 

“Have you thought about who we should cast in the skit?” Bellamy asked, throwing the eyebrows into the cart along with some piece of costume jewelry and a giant bag of black feathers. 

Clarke grabbed a few bottles of paint before turning back to him. 

“We usually audition the parts,” she explained, “it’s the only way to make sure the best dancers end up with the lead roles.” 

Bellamy frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Isn’t that a little...intense? Plus, it makes a lot of extra work for us,” he said, propping his shoulder against the shelves. 

Clarke shrugged, tucking a curl behind her ear. “It’s how you win.” 

She knew it was unnecessarily sharp, but the truth of the matter was that Tau Delt hadn’t won the homecoming contest in a decade. The last thing she needed was to drop their six-year streak because Bellamy wanted things to be chill. 

Bellamy bristled at her words, dipping into the felt aisle instead of bothering with a response. 

Despite herself, Clarke felt a small stab of regret. It seemed as though their friendly streak was over. 

***

  
“I can’t believe you let her talk you into this,” Miller groaned, propping his head on his hands. 

Oddly enough, the whole set-up felt like a scene from Schitt’s Creek, with the long table set up in the basement corner and judges chairs behind it. 

“They know what they’re doing,” Murphy scolded, pushing a mug of coffee in front of Miller as he took his seat at the edge of the table. “Look at this score sheet Emori sent me.” 

Bellamy took the sheet, scanning over the detailed evaluation criteria on dancing skills, facial expressions, and ability to recite dialogue. 

Suddenly, it became abundantly clear why they’d never won homecoming. 

This was bordering on psychotic. 

A few minutes later, Clarke, Harper, and Emori appeared with an armful of bagels, entirely too cheerful for the early hour. 

“Really took the theme to heart, huh?” Emori teased, sliding into Murphy’s lap and stealing a sip of his coffee. 

“The boom box was a nice touch,” Clarke agreed, taking her seat beside Bellamy. 

It was the first time he’d ever seen her look less than perfect, in a pair of worn white joggers and a faded pink Theta Gam sweatshirt. Oddly, he preferred her this way, like it was a glimpse of who she really was under all the pristine cardigans and perfectly fitted blouses. 

“Yeah, it’s mostly for show,” he explained, helping himself to a bagel. “Jasper put a piece of ham in it during the Christmas party last year, and it’s never been the same.” 

To his surprise, Clarke giggled, and the way her nose wrinkled as she laughed was enough to send a wave of heat up the back of his neck. 

Spending all this time together wasn’t good for him. 

And yet, he didn’t actually mind. 

Bellamy tried to keep his thoughts off Clarke and her light, airy laugh as Harper passed out the score sheets and read through their agenda. 

“So we’ve got Josie up first—“ she listed off, voice clipped. 

“Let me guess, she’s auditioning for Alexis Rose?” Clarke groaned, at the same time that Emori banged her head softly against Murphy’s shoulder. 

“We just need to be open-minded,” Emori said, plastering on a clearly fake smile. 

The girls nodded in agreement, but under her breath, Clarke whispered. 

“You’re in for a treat,” she said, leaning in slightly so only Bellamy could hear her. 

More likely than not, they were talking about Josephine Lightborne. If they were, Gabriel would systemically murder them all if she walked away unhappy. 

“Is it too early for vodka?” Miller asked, finally lifting his head up from the plastic table. 

“Already two steps ahead of you,” Harper said, reaching into her bag to retrieve a jug of orange juice and a bottle of Tito’s. 

Bellamy was—shocked. Harper didn’t exactly seem like the kind of person who drank at eight in the morning, but then again, he didn’t know her that well. 

“She’s my new best friend,” Miller grinned, smacking a kiss to Harper's cheek as he took his glass. 

With the added excitement of cocktails and bagels in hand, the prospect of watching their friends dance around in a frat basement seemed a hell of a lot more appealing. 

Clarke tipped an extra shot of vodka into her glass before they waved for Josie to enter. 

She already looked less than impressed. 

Bellamy pressed his lips to his fist as Josephine did a staggeringly bad rendition of “A little bit Alexis” and rolled around on the sticky floor. 

He snuck a glance at Clarke, who was keeping her eyes firmly on the table. 

With a dramatic bow, Josephine left the basement with a flourish, blowing kisses on her way out. 

“What do you think?” Bellamy asked, nudging Clarke with the tip of his elbow. 

With one long sip from her glass, draining it fully, Clarke said sweetly, “I think all my sisters are valuable and talented.” 

“Ouch,” Emori winced, downing her own cup. 

“I would have to agree with Clarke,” Harper nodded, marking down a few words on her piece of paper. 

They continued on to watch Jasper attempt to do David Rose, followed by a surprisingly impassioned Moria Rose impression from Hope Diyoza. 

Some of the attempts were fairly impressive, while others were painful, to say the least. 

By the end of auditions, Murphy excused himself to go throw up in a bush, and it didn’t seem like they’d made much progress regarding the casting. 

“Here are my sheets, good luck with this. I need a nap,” Miller said, placing his evaluation sheets in front of Clarke before disappearing up the stairs. 

Murphy and Emori followed suit, clearly needing to sleep off the multiple shots of vodka they’d taken unprompted. 

“Are you guys good? I’m going to go see if Monty’s done with his biology lab,” Harper asked, already halfway up the stairs before she’d finished her question. 

Bellamy gave her a thumbs up, flipping through the evaluation sheets, and snickered at one where Miller had scribbled, “that should’ve been illegal honestly” at the top of the page. 

As he’d predicted, this was a considerable amount of work compared to assigning roles by volunteers. 

“I think Josephine is an obvious choice for Alexis,” he said, pulling out her sheets from the pile. 

In a matter of seconds, the smile dropped from Clarke’s face. 

“Absolutely not,” she said firmly, pushing the stack away. 

“Whatever you think about her otherwise, she fits the role—“ 

“I said no, Bellamy.” 

“Are you going to explain, or…” 

“Pick literally anybody else. I don’t care.” 

Bellamy shifted through the evaluation sheets. In truth, nobody else fit the part. They’d decided that Hope would be the perfect Moria, and all the other girls who’d tried out didn’t have the life that Josephine gave to her dancing and singing. 

Granted, she was terrible, but that was kind of the point. 

He wanted to know why Clarke seemed to hate this girl so vehemently, but it didn’t feel like it was his place to ask. 

Plus, Bellamy had his own motives to consider. The last thing he wanted was to cast Roma in one of the lead roles because they had no other choice. 

“She’s the only one who was halfway decent,” he shot back, waving the paper in the air. 

“Josephine was awful! Do you have ears?” 

“The song is supposed to be terrible, Clarke. Why are you being petty?” 

“You’re just fixated on her because you don’t want to cast Roma.” 

Dammit. 

Of course, Clarke knew to hit him where it hurt. 

“Roma was awful, and you know it, she literally tripped in the middle of the audition.” 

“It was part of the performance!” 

“This is ridiculous.” 

All the goodwill Bellamy had built toward Clarke this morning faded away while they bickered back and forth. 

Hearing Clarke yell was all he needed to remember why he’d never let himself push his feelings for her any further. 

They couldn't agree on anything, and that would never change. 

“I’m not casting Josephine in this.” 

“I need you to give me one decent reason beyond the fact that you don’t like her,” he pushed back. This was one decision he wasn’t willing to flip a coin over. 

Clarke smacked her hand against the table, face twisting in the way Bellamy was more than accustomed to seeing. The mole above her lip jumped as she mulled over his statement, and that was how he knew she was really, truly angry. 

Under any other circumstance, Bellamy would’ve conceded, but Roma was nuts. There was no universe where he would subject himself to spending long periods of time with her ever again. 

“She fucking sucks, and yet, she always manages to get what she wants,” Clarke gritted out, voice dropped so low that Bellamy could barely hear her. “It works on everyone, at least every guy, including you, apparently. She could light the house on fire, and everyone would still be saying that she’s such a sweetheart.” 

Bellamy tried not to let the surprise show on his face, and suddenly he wished he had left himself one last sip of his drink. 

“I know Josephine is the worst. I was roommates with Gabe for a year. This has nothing with our personal feelings about her. It’s about winning,” he said calmly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes over how stupid this argument was. 

“Ugh, you don’t get it!” She yelled, scrubbing a hand over her face. 

“I think I understand it fine. I don’t really give a shit whether Josephine gives you the warm and fuzzies. There are plenty of people in my house who I don’t like. If given a chance, I would bash Cillian’s head into a wall. But this is a small and relatively stupid thing. Just let it go.” 

At this, Clarke’s hard-lined frown faltered. 

Bellamy hadn’t exactly intended on bringing up Cillian. 

Not that Bellamy’s hatred of him had anything to do with Clarke. 

“Fuck Cillian,” Clarke agreed, expression softening fractionally. 

He knew she was thinking about the same night he was. The Great Gatsby date party, the one Clarke attended with Cillian, where he’d promptly ditched her. 

Whether or not Bellamy spent the entire night with Clarke, sharing a bottle of lukewarm gin and bickering over a stupid detail from the book to keep her from crying, was neither here nor there. In the end, they’d both turned out to be wrong, but they’d spent the night tucked away from the party, sitting under the basketball hoop. 

It was one of the few times Bellamy could remember them coexisting in peace, and it was also the first time he realized that Clarke wasn’t quite as annoying as he thought. 

He’d hated Cillian on principle ever since, but that single night didn’t change anything between him and Clarke. 

They’d gone back to business as usual on Monday. 

But apparently, Clarke hadn’t forgotten it either. 

“It’s the principle of it, Bellamy,” she said, breaking the silence that settled between them and shifting away from the topic of Cillian. 

“It’s a stupid skit. Giving her this doesn’t change anything,” he replied, rubbing his temples.

The argument was moving in circles, and there was no end in sight. 

***

  
In the end, they’d cast Roma as Alexis Rose, even after Harper tried and failed to intervene. 

Bellamy refused to go anywhere near the skit as a result.

He’d named Miller as a captain and washed his hands of the whole mess.

And in an effort to channel his rage, Bellamy had taken to carving wood cut-outs for their float in his front yard. 

But even over the whirr of his saw, he could hear Clarke yelling out counts as she taught the dance on the porch. 

As much as he was trying to ignore it, he could see Roma trip over one of the counts and couldn’t help but feel a little satisfied that Clarke was dealing with the consequences of her pettiness. 

Bellamy was almost done carving out the Welcome to Schitt’s creek sign, when he heard the music click off. 

Trying not to be obvious, Bellamy turned down the saw just in time to hear Miller yell at two of the pledges about drinking during practice. 

“You need to talk to your guys about taking this seriously if you want to win,” Clarke yelled, hopping over the wall of the porch to join Bellamy in his yard. 

“If you were serious about winning, you wouldn’t have wasted half of your rehearsal teaching Roma how to bend and snap,” he said casually, not bothering to turn down the chainsaw. 

Bellamy could feel his irritation growing, building off a petty debate he and Clarke had in their modern government class earlier in the day and combining with the forced proximity to his ex. 

“Oh my God, not this again,” she sighed, marching over and unplugging the machine. “Let the Josephine thing go.” 

“Why don’t you let two pledges drinking Trulys during a dance rehearsal go?” He fired back, tossing his now useless saw into the grass. 

“Because they keep messing up the choreography, and it’s wasting everyone’s time!” 

“You started the rehearsal off by wasting everyone’s time!” 

“Who’s being petty now, Bellamy?” 

“I’m pretty sure it’s still you…” he said wryly, turning around just in time to see Maya, looking over at them from her porch. 

***

  
“And that was one of many instances of hostile behavior I observed between these two,” Maya said, flipping the page in her binder as she looked expectantly toward Kane. “Not to mention that they referred to ‘new members’ as pledges.” 

Kane pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. 

“It’s obvious that these two dislike each other, but that’s not really why we’re here,” he sighed, gesturing for her to continue. 

Bellamy ran a hand through his hair, and he snuck a glance at Clarke. 

She had her lip caught between her teeth, a lock of blonde hair twirled around her finger. 

He wished he could see inside her head, that they could get a few seconds alone to come up with a way to talk themselves out of this. 

But of course, that wasn’t possible. 

All that hard work, all the late nights, and here they were on the verge of being disqualified. 

Even though working with Clarke was insufferable most of the time, the idea of it all being over, of losing this weird thing they shared, hurt his heart. 

“I have more,” Maya explained, flipping to a new colored tab. 

***

  
“I’m gonna steal you for a sec,” Harper said, tapping Clarke on the shoulder with her clipboard. 

They were making set pieces and costumes for the skit, all spread out on the basement floor and basketball court of the Tau Delt house. 

There wasn’t much room for movement, let alone trouble, but Harper had her serious voice turned on. 

More than a little thrown off, Clarke wiped the paint off her hands and left the banner with a few trustworthy juniors as she followed her friend outside. 

“Anya said she caught a bunch of new members and Tau Delt pledges drinking in the parking lot,” Harper continued, leading toward a bench where Bellamy and Murphy were already waiting. 

From the look on Bellamy’s face alone, this was a bigger deal than a bunch of freshmen drinking more than they could handle. 

“The drunk idiots then proceeded to steal decorations off another team’s float,” Murphy said wearily, picking up exactly where Harper left off. 

Clarke banged her head against the picnic table, twice for good measure. 

Nothing could ever be easy around here. 

“That was pretty much my reaction,” Bellamy said, propping his chin on his hand. 

“Did they get caught?” Clarke asked, directing the question more at Murphy than at her best friend. 

Murphy glanced at Harper, who was glaring at him, but he acknowledged that Anya was the only one who technically saw what happened. 

“So theoretically, we could just put them back, and there’s a chance nobody would notice?” She continued, tracing a ridge in the table with her finger. 

Bellamy snorted audibly, “the princess has a dark side. Who knew?” 

Neither president responded. 

“You’re not actually suggesting we do that…” Harper sighed, checking her phone to read another text from Anya. 

“I mean...it would save us all a huge amount of headache if we just pretend it never happened,” Murphy interrupted, clearly already over this situation. 

Clarke shrugged and preened over the fact that Bellamy seemed genuinely surprised she was capable of not playing by the rules. 

The less hassle over this, the better. 

Eventually, they wore Harper down. 

Which was how Bellamy and Clarke ended up dressed in all black, sneaking huge pieces of wood into the parking lot of Pi Phi. 

“This was such a bad idea,” Clarke whispered, arms shaking under the weight of the wood cut out. The enormous replica of Michael Scott was quickly slipping out of her grip. 

“You say that as if this wasn’t your idea,” Bellamy replied, laying a wooden chili pot and a Kevin Malone cut-out down at an angle that made it look like it got knocked over by the wind. 

He then moved to take the other decoration from Clarke, sliding it just under the float's lip. 

Clarke kept her gaze fixed on the flickering porch light and the back door, hoping that nobody would choose this moment to take out the trash. 

But nothing moved. The only sound was the rustling of the leaves in the fall breeze. 

With one last look at the float, Bellamy gestured for Clarke to follow him toward a sea of bushes and out of the parking lot. 

“I think it’s safe to say we’re in the clear,” Bellamy grinned cheekily, holding out his fist for Clarke to bump. 

***

  
“Do you have literally any evidence?” Clarke interrupted, cutting off Maya’s dramatized retelling of the theft. “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” 

“Yeah, it kind of feels like we’re being targeted here,” Bellamy agreed, hoping that there wasn’t any proof to call them out on their bluff. 

They’d been so sure nobody had seen them. 

And Tau Delt and Theta Gamma were both less than popular with the office of student affairs, so it wouldn’t be totally baseless to assume they were being wrongfully called out. 

Maya’s eyes narrowed as she flipped to another page in her binder primly, her own Greek letters peeking out from behind the table. 

Pi Beta Phi. 

Also known as the house, they’d stolen and returned float decorations from. 

Bellamy tried to keep his expression even, but he had a sinking feeling that Maya may have actually found something. 

“Somebody saw it through a window,“ she began, turning toward Kane. 

“But you said this happened in the dark. I’m going to take a wild guess and assume there are plenty of people who it could’ve been,” Clarke said, so convincingly that if Bellamy hadn’t been there himself, he would’ve believed her. 

“That is if this theft even happened at all…” he added, hoping the addition wouldn’t push them over the edge. 

Kane didn’t seem fully convinced, but he did write something in the margins of his paper. 

“I literally know it was you!” 

“Except that we were both asleep, and you have no proof that anything was even stolen!” Bellamy sighed, glad that Maya didn’t seem to have anything legitimate to back up her admittedly true claims. 

She opened her mouth to reply, but Kane interrupted before it could move further. 

“I can’t write a citation based on a feeling Maya, if there’s no documented evidence, then we need to move on,” he said firmly, not indicating whether or not he believed either side. 

Bellamy tried not to let his relief show outwardly, but it seemed like they’d actually managed to get away with this. 

“Okay, we’ll just move on to the next one,” Maya said, still undeterred.

***

  
Clarke winced as she eased open the ajar door to Bellamy’s house, apparently; at some point during their party, someone had moved a couch directly in front of the door. 

It looked exactly like she expected, beer cases decorating the walls and a row of empty liquor bottles lining the space at the top of the cabinets. In the corner of the living room sat a traffic cone and a bent stop sign.

There were still cups strewn around the room, and an old speaker hummed faintly with static. 

Evidence of another Friday well spent. 

From the looks of it, Miller was sound asleep in an armchair, shirtless, with an incredibly hot guy curled in his lap. 

Clarke draped a blanket over them as she walked by, kicking beer bottles to make a path for herself. 

“Rise and shine,” she yelled, barging into Bellamy’s room and hoping there wasn’t a girl in his bed. 

Thankfully there wasn’t. 

His bedroom was oddly nice in contrast to the rest of the house, so much so that Clarke took a moment to look around.

The sheet set was paired with a matching duvet, multiple pillows, all with covers, and the entire room was reasonably spotless. A row of vitamin bottles sat at the top of his desk, beside a neat row of supplement powders and a few framed pictures. 

Unable to resist, Clarke moved to look at the photos, taking in a framed baby picture of Bellamy, his sister and a woman she assumed was their mother, another from his high school graduation and one of him, Murphy and Miller. 

No girlfriend. 

Not that it mattered to her anyway. 

With one last look at Bellamy’s gap-toothed baby smile, she tried to prod him awake again. 

He groaned, covering his eyes with his arm. 

Clarke moved to rip open the blinds, trying and failing to not stare at Bellamy’s bare, perfectly sculpted chest as the light fell on him. It really was a sight to be seen, coupled with his curly bed head and the slight rasp to his voice, she only had a finite amount of willpower. 

“Baby no…” he moaned, pulling a pillow over his head, obviously still asleep. 

At that, Clarke froze, the words burning through her, clouding her head. 

It had been way too long since a boy called her baby, and she’d never had a boy who looked—that good shirtless, ever call her baby. 

Of course, Bellamy was half asleep and didn’t know it was her. 

And the idea that he thought she was someone else, made her feel oddly jealous. 

But she didn’t have time to dwell on it. 

“Wake up,” she said again, picking up a decorative throw pillow and smacking him with it. 

He stirred, but still didn’t wake, so she smacked him again. 

“What the fuck,” Bellamy finally yelped, jumping away from another blow.

When he realized who was standing in front of him, he relaxed marginally, running a hand through his messy hair as he scowled at her. 

“You forgot about our meeting,” Clarke said, trying to pretend like the flex of Bellamy’s biceps wasn’t distracting her. “We have to be in the Sigma Chi formal in ten minutes.” 

Without pretense, she turned, pulled a random shirt from Bellamy’s closet, and threw it at his head. 

At this, his eyebrows jumped up to his hairline, and he sprung out of bed, mumbling something that sounded like an apology mixed with an excuse. 

But once again, all of Clarke’s focus went straight to the pair of light grey sweatpants hanging off his hips—and he definitely caught her this time. 

With a smug smirk, he deliberately took his time putting on the shirt. 

Clarke’s cheeks burned as she turned on her heel and went back into the living room. 

“You have three minutes,” she called over her shoulder, flopping down on the sofa across from a still sleeping Miller. 

She wasn’t exactly looking forward to this meeting. It happened every year, a conduct briefing about homecoming, underage drinking, and hazing, all things they’d heard hundreds of times already. 

Neither Theta Gamma nor Tau Delta had particularly good reputations when it came to drinking, so being late wasn’t a look they needed right now. 

Thankfully, Bellamy appeared presentable and wide awake a few seconds later, with a blender bottle in hand and still wearing the shirt she’d picked out for him. 

“What a time to be alive,” he said dryly, giving his bottle a shake as he gestured for Clarke to follow him outside. 

They made it to the meeting just in time, taking their seats toward the front while Kane set up a PowerPoint presentation. 

Clarke tried to shake the tingle under her skin from earlier, but it only worsened when Bellamy’s elbow brushed hers. 

She wasn’t sure where this came from all of a sudden. They’d always toed the line, flirted just as much as they fought. 

Recently though, it had all felt less playful and more real. 

This was definitely dangerous territory, but she didn’t really want to stop. 

“First, I have a bit of housekeeping,” Kane announced, leaning back against the formal dining table. “It seems we’ve had a mix up with some music.” 

A thick silence fell over the group. 

Music was a huge commodity when it came to the skits. Each pairing was allowed to choose five songs, with no repeats among any of the skits. 

“Two teams have been cleared for the same song by mistake. I believe one is a remix of the other.” 

Still, no response as everyone waited for him to reveal who the teams were. 

Whoever was called out, would have to re-choreograph a portion of their routine.

Clarke had a sinking feeling that it would be them. 

“Eta Omicron and Sigma Beta, along with Theta Gamma and Tau Delta, have repeat songs.” 

Shit. 

Immediately, Ontari flew up from her chair, guns blazing as she fixed her sights on Clarke. 

“Well, obviously, you have to change yours!” She said accusatorily, planting her hands on her hips. 

Before Clarke could respond, Bellamy stood, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You’re the ones who picked a remix,” he said evenly, looking between Ontari and Shaw. 

“We submitted our music proposal first!” Shaw exclaimed, gesturing for Kane to agree with him. 

Kane cleared his throat, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

“I thought you said you submitted it exactly at midnight,” Bellamy whispered loudly, turning to Clarke. 

Clarke could feel her neck prickling as all the eyes in the room swiveled to look at her. 

And just like that, all the warm and fuzzy feelings from this morning melted away. 

“Seriously, Bellamy? Are you blaming me right now,” she snapped back, rising up from her chair. 

A faint smirk crossed Ontari’s face as she took a step back. Apparently, she was familiar with their brawls. 

“I’m not blaming you, but I’m just wondering—“ 

“Well, maybe you wouldn’t have to wonder if you submitted it yourself!” 

Bellamy’s jaw ticked as Clarke took another step closer. 

“We all know why you were the one in charge of the skit,” he said very carefully, words slow, like he was restraining himself from reopening the Josephine fight in front of all their classmates. 

“Oh, not this again!” She groaned, spinning on her heel in frustration. 

Even simmering with rage, the urge to press their lips together still sat at the forefront of Clarke’s brain.

But she tried her best to push it away, to channel her anger into literally anything else. 

“You realize this won’t affect you at all,” Clarke snapped, pushing down the urge to crowd Bellamy any closer than she already had. “I’m the one who has to re-choreograph a quarter of the routine!” 

“Okay, but—“ 

***

  
“That’s enough. We were all there,” Kane said, waving his hand in front of Maya after he tapped the table softly. 

With a smug tilt of her head, Maya closed the binder and turned her back to Bellamy and Clarke. 

“As you can see, these two are fostering a hostile and overly competitive environment, using hazing language with their new members and sabotaging other teams,” she said firmly. 

“I thought we agreed that the alleged sabotage was a ridiculous accusation,” Clarke said, sidestepping a fraction of an inch closer to Bellamy. 

“We did,” Kane agreed. “But the yelling and the arguing and the aggressive environment is an area of concern. We wouldn’t want anyone feeling uncomfortable because you two can’t seem to stand each other for longer than ten minutes.” 

Bellamy closed the distance between Clarke and himself, pressing their shoulders together. 

There was only one way he could get them out of this, and he was playing with the risk that Clarke wouldn’t go along with it. 

But she’d put just as much work into all of this as he had, and he had to hope that somewhere, despite everything, she didn’t want this to be over yet. 

They still had a chance to win. 

“I think there’s been a little bit a misunderstanding here about Clarke and me,” Bellamy chuckled, wrapping an arm around her waist. 

Immediately, Clarke leaned into him, thankfully sensing what he was up to. 

“We don’t hate each other,” she agreed, smiling sheepishly. 

“You had me fooled,” Maya said with a tinge of snark, like she was suspicious of their antics already. 

“We uh—we’ve been dating for a while, almost a year now actually. But bickering has kind of always been the way we talk to each other. I think we forget how it can sound from the outside sometimes.” 

“It’s never malicious, but it comes off kind of harsh if you don’t know us,” Clarke added. “I assure you we can go longer than ten minutes without hating each other.” 

Kane dug his thumb into his temple as he looked between his notes and the other three people in the room. 

Hopefully, he was annoyed enough that he would just let them go. 

“We’re sorry about the yelling at the sigma chi meeting. We were up late painting and got a little too snappy,” Bellamy said, surprising himself with the earnestness in his voice. 

There was some shuffling of papers and a few annoyed huffs from Maya, but eventually, Kane conceded. 

“To be honest, there’s isn’t much there to write you up with. But the yelling and fighting have to stop. Whatever you choose to do in your relationship is not my business, but you can’t be debating each other in the middle of meetings,” he said, scribbling on a piece of paper as he spoke. “I’m letting you off with a warning this time, but I don’t want to hear about or see anything like this again.” 

“But—“ Maya tried, holding up her binder indignantly. 

“This matter is closed.” 

***

  
Bellamy leaned back on Clarke’s fluffy white carpet and shoved a handful of goldfish into his mouth just to have something to do. 

“You realize we’re going to have to keep this up now, right?” Clarke said, flopping down beside him, but keeping a healthy level of distance. 

“Yeah, Maya is going to be watching you two like a hawk,” Murphy chuckled, looking more amused than concerned about the whole situation from his spot in the desk chair. 

“I still can't get over the fact that you basically told Marcus Kane, director of Greek life, that you argue as a form of foreplay,” Harper snickered, tossing a pillow at Clarke. 

Clarke threw it back, throwing her arm over her eyes as she fell back onto the rug, allowing herself to nudge a breath closer to Bellamy. 

This was—a mess. 

Not just because she and Bellamy had never been able to go longer than three seconds without arguing, but also due to the fact that Clarke could not get the idea of kissing Bellamy out of her head. 

They were screwed. 

“It’s one week, you’ll live,” Murphy said, spinning around in the chair. “But you really gotta dedicate yourself to this shit because Maya has no life.” 

Harper nodded in agreement, rolling over to unplug her phone from Clarke’s charger. 

“I came up with a few ideas,” she said, holding up her hand before either party could protest. “Nothing major, but you guys should probably walk to class together every day, maybe stage a hug out on Bellamy’s back porch, and a midweek date to La Margarita wouldn’t hurt your cause.” 

“Harper, you cannot be serious,” Clarke groaned, followed closely by matching complaints from Bellamy. 

“Oh, she’s serious,” Murphy agreed. “We’re in this situation because of you two, and if we want to win, then you need to commit to this. I now pronounce you boyfriend and girlfriend.” 

  
***

  
Clarke clapped evenly three times, “five, six, five, six, seven, eight, and one,” she yelled, keeping the beat as Miller and Emori ran through the new choreography. 

Bellamy leaned back on his elbows, watching as Miller did a high kick and almost fell on his ass. 

The new song didn’t match up with this footwork at all. Even Bellamy could tell. 

“Okay, no, this isn’t going to work,” Clarke sighed, popping up from her place on the porch. She then turned, tapping Bellamy on the knee for him to follow her into the yard. “I think we should switch it to something like this.” 

Without warning, she took Bellamy’s hand and began giving him instructions on how to dance. 

He wanted to protest, but she didn’t leave him room to, and the next thing he knew, Bellamy was waltzing with Clarke around the yard. 

Her eyes were fixed to the ground, tracking the movement of their feet, lip caught between her teeth in concentration. 

Bellamy couldn’t bring himself to look away, struck by how quickly he could read Clarke’s facial expressions. In all their years of being pseudo frenemies, he’d actually gotten to know her better than he thought. 

“I’m by no means an expert,” he said gently, trying his best to keep the suggestion light. “But this song is way slower than the one from before. Wouldn’t it be easier if we just chose something more similar?” 

Clarke’s head whipped up at his words, and for a moment, she seemed like she wanted to protest. But instead, she let her hands slide off his shoulders and down his chest, taking a step back. 

“What did you have in mind?” She asked, walking back toward the porch. 

In his periphery, Bellamy could see a ghost of a smile form on Miller and Emori’s faces. He had a sneaking suspicion their friends had discussed the truce behind their backs. 

Maybe this wasn’t as much of a lost cause as he thought. 

***

  
“I know we’re supposed to be getting along,” Clarke said, sliding the essay back across the table. “But the entire area I circled in red is wrong.” 

Maya was very visibly sitting two tables away, so Bellamy held his tongue as he read through Clarke’s feedback. 

“This is literally my opinion,” he replied, rolling his eyes at the places she’d drawn frowning faces. “You were supposed to be checking for run-on sentences.” 

“I did that, in pink.” She shrugged, turning to read the edits he’d given her. 

Apparently, they were one and the same because he’d covered her paper in frowny faces too. 

But he had to admit, her paper was good, and the feedback she gave him was even better. 

Seeing this made him regret the three years they’d spent competing instead of working together. Having this kind of help sooner would’ve made his life a hell of a lot easier. 

“I’m going to go get a coffee. Do you want one?” He asked, tucking his midterm back into a folder. 

Clarke nodded but didn’t look up from her laptop, already filling in the places where Bellamy had marked typos or inconsistencies. 

Thankfully, he knew how she took her coffee. 

The knowledge should’ve been unsettling, but he liked knowing things about Clarke. 

Maybe a little too much. 

But he couldn’t think about that right now, now when Maya was staring directly at him. 

Trying to seem unbothered, he stood, pressing what he hoped looked like a casual kiss to the top of Clarke’s head before he headed toward the coffee cart. 

They’d talked about kissing a while ago, but this was the first time he’d actually tried anything. He hadn’t even kissed her mouth, but still, his pulse thudded so loudly he could barely think straight as he ordered their lattes. 

If this was going to work and not ruin his life in the process, Bellamy needed to get a hold of himself. 

***

  
Clarke swirled a line of red paint on the board, finally finishing the pickup truck's central portion. 

Everything was coming together, and tonight was the final push, the decorating block party. 

In ten minutes, they all had to cease work, and their remaining additions could only be worked on between 9 pm and 3:30 am. 

After that, they had to finalize their float decorating and turn in photos of their props. 

“I think today would be a great night for you to go out with Bellamy,” Harper suggested, gently plucking the paintbrush from between Clarke’s fingers. 

“But I need to finalize—“ Clarke began to protest, but Harper held her hand up. 

“We’ve finalized everything, prepped everything, all the forms are filled out, everyone had their tasks assigned for later. It’s time for a break.” 

Unfortunately, Harper was correct. 

They’d really covered their bases. 

Which meant that Clarke actually had to go on a date with Bellamy. 

And the problem laid in the fact that she wasn’t dreading it. 

Somehow, in the past week, she realized she liked hanging out with him...a lot. 

And without the added outlet of bickering, the tension between them had morphed into something—else. 

Trying to keep her expression neutral, Clarke wiped her hands off on her jeans and took her friend’s offered hand to stand. 

“I think you would very much enjoy going into the driveway and telling Bellamy about this little plan,” Harper said with a wink, pushing Clarke toward the door. 

Nothing about the suggestion sounded innocent, but Clarke complied, stepping out of the side door to find Bellamy standing in the flatbed of a pickup truck. 

He was shirtless, covered in a thin layer of sweat, with a pair of jeans slung low on his hips. 

The loud drone of a buzz saw filled the air, keeping Bellamy’s focus as he cut through wooden beams. 

It took all of Clarke’s willpower not to gape. 

But she was only human, and the sight of Bellamy elbow deep in power tools, half-naked, quickly left her feeling more than a little bit unsteady on her legs. 

Whether or not she crossed her arms in a way that pushed her boobs together was neither here nor there. 

She might as well enjoy the view until he noticed her. 

Eventually, he caught sight of her, flipping off the saw and hopping out of the truck bed. 

“I take it that you’ve been informed about our date,” he teased, gesturing toward where Murphy was sitting in the driver’s seat of the truck. 

“Isn’t it romantic having your best friend organize your love life in a google doc?” Clarke teased, reaching out to lace their fingers together after Bellamy shrugged on a loose shirt. 

They’d started holding hands on their walks home from class, and now it’d become somewhat of a habit. 

To the point apparently, where Clarke felt compelled to do it on instinct. 

But it didn’t seem to bother Bellamy that there was nobody around to put a show on for right now. 

“I feel pretty good about tonight,” he said, smiling down at her as they walked toward their houses. 

Clarke’s stomach jumped before she realized he was referring to the block party and not the dinner date they were about to go on. 

What the hell was wrong with her? 

This was all pretend, for the sake of not getting disqualified. 

None of it had anything to do with her feelings or lack thereof, for Bellamy. 

“Yeah, me too. The float is going to be gorgeous,” she agreed, pushing down her confusion as far as it would go. 

There was a stretch of silence as they walked past each of the houses on Greek row, watching while flurries of people collected their supplies and prepared for the final push. 

Admittedly, nobody’s looked as good as theirs.

Which was probably why Maya seemed so hell-bent on getting them disqualified. 

“I still can’t believe we got away with that,” Bellamy whispered, edging so close that his lips brushed the shell of Clarke’s ear. 

He was pointing to the Michael Scott replica that had almost crushed Clarke and smiling down at her like they were in on the world’s biggest joke. 

The moment felt warm and private and soft in a way Clarke hadn’t been prepared for, and she didn’t know what to say in response. 

Instead, she twined her arms around his torso, flashing him a quick wink before urging him forward. 

It wasn’t a very effective walking method, but he kept her against his side, palm sliding just under the hem of her shirt. 

Being held felt good, leaving a faint tingle under Clarke’s skin, and she found herself missing Bellamy’s touch when they went their separate ways to change. 

“Let yourself have fun, okay?” Emori smiled, leaning in the doorway as Clarke tried to find a decent outfit. 

Smoothing down her shirt, Clarke examined herself in the mirror. Oddly enough, even when they were fighting, she usually had fun with Bellamy. 

And the more time they spent together, the more she was starting to like him. 

“If you ever tell anyone, I’ll deny it, but I’m kind of nervous,” she admitted, holding up two lipstick options for Emori to pick from. 

“Because you like him,” Emori said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world and not the single most stressful thing in Clarke’s life. 

Part of her wanted to deny it out of habit, she’d been ignoring it for so long that it felt like a fact of life, but she couldn’t. 

Because she did like Bellamy, she’d always liked Bellamy. 

“And he likes you too,” Emori continued, either oblivious to Clarke’s turmoil or purposely ignoring it. 

“You’re crazy,” Clarke said, trying not to let it show how much five simple words seemed to affect her. “And he’s still kind of a dick.” 

Emori shrugged, blowing a kiss to Clarke before disappearing back down the hallway. 

Even if she did like Bellamy, there was absolutely no way that he liked her back. 

***

  
Bellamy hammered a nail into place harder than necessary, trying to keep his focus on the piece of wood in front of him. 

But still, his mind kept drifting back to his date with Clarke, to the fact that his heart squeezed every time he made her laugh, that they liked the same books and watched the same shows. 

He’d held her hand for most of the evening, even while they were eating. He had always been aware that Clarke was beautiful and smart and interesting, but suddenly, the reality of it felt overwhelming. 

It took all his willpower not to kiss her after the drive home, when they sat in his car on his driveway, lightly arguing about an article from the New York Times. 

But even their arguing had shifted to something softer, more friendly, more like sparring than arguing. 

Fuck. 

He liked Clarke. A lot. 

And there was nothing he could do about it. 

Because she definitely didn’t like him back. 

So he kept hammering, banging the wood harder than strictly necessary, until there was nothing left for him to build. 

The float came together reasonably quickly. All their organization and planning paid off. 

“Can you help me with this,” a voice called, giving him a few seconds of warning before Clarke appeared by the bed of the truck. 

She held up a thick folder and explained that they were liability forms for the skit they needed to certify and sign. 

Being alone with Clarke sounded like a recipe for accidentally letting all his feelings spill out, but Bellamy didn’t really have a choice. 

So he led her to the Tau Delt president’s suite, gesturing for her to spread the papers out on the coffee table. Murphy wouldn’t care, and it was the only quiet place in the house with somewhere to sit. 

And because he was a masochist, he turned on the fireplace. 

“So we have to make sure that these are filled out correctly—“ 

“I guarantee you that they aren’t,” he interrupted, holding up one that was filled out in marker as an example. 

“So that one's going in the redo pile,” Clarke said, pointing to the open folder in the corner. 

She’d scooted to the far side of the couch and curled up against the armrest. It left just enough room for him to sit beside her, or he could pull up Murphy’s desk chair to the table. 

Instead of quitting while he was ahead, Bellamy settled next to her, trying not to let his surprise show when she stretched her legs out and let her toes bump his thigh. 

He let his palm rest over her ankle, taking a stack of forms and sifting through them. 

They worked in companionable silence, the crackle of the fire filling the air and curling warmly around them. 

“What do you want to do after graduation?” Clarke asked, catching Bellamy off guard with the suddenness of it. 

“I used to think law school was the next step, but I don’t know anymore,” he admitted, letting his paper rest in his lap. 

“You don’t have to tell me...but what would you rather do instead?” she continued, voice soft, genuinely curious. 

Bellamy let his head fall back against the couch and stared up at the ceiling. 

He hadn’t told anyone about this. 

Not his sister, not Murphy or Miller. 

But for some reason, he felt like Clarke was someone who would understand. 

“I applied to get a master's in education,” he said slowly, speaking the words out loud for the first time. “I don’t really know whether I would be a high school teacher or take it further and become a professor. But I think it’s what I’ve always wanted to do, and I never let myself admit it.” 

He kept his gaze fixed firmly on the ceiling, but in his peripheral, he could see Clarke shifting closer. 

And then, she took his hand. 

“I probably don’t know you well enough to say this, but that’s very fitting,” she said, rubbing her thumb against the back of his knuckles. “I think you’ll be a good teacher...or a good professor.” 

The gesture made him feel warm and safe, and it made him want to fold her into his chest so desperately that he didn’t know what to do with himself. 

“You know me better than a lot of people, trust me,” he replied, and it was the truth. 

Over the past four years, he’d spent a staggering amount of time with Clarke, in class, in clubs, walking back and forth to class, making complete assholes out of themselves in public spaces. 

In that space of time, he’d come to know her, to respect her, and now—maybe something bigger than that. 

And he hoped she at least felt that connection too, even if she didn’t think of him romantically. 

“It’s kind of funny, really,” she said after a long pause, taking his hand in both of hers. “You don’t want to be a lawyer anymore. But you’re the reason I decided to apply to law school.” 

The admission took Bellamy by surprise, mainly because he’d assumed Clarke came into college with the aspiration to go to law school. 

“What?” He chuckled, wanting confirmation for what she was implying. 

“I was pre-med until junior year. Hated every second of it, was miserable in all my classes. Poly sci was supposed to be my minor, but I had so much fun in class, debating and researching stuff. It started as a personal mission to one-up you, and I fell in love with it along the way,” Clarke explained, looking down at their conjoined hands. “But if I didn’t have you to compete with, I probably would still be a biology major.” 

Bellamy didn’t know what to say, a rare occurrence in his general life, but it seemed to be happening with shocking frequency whenever Clarke was around. 

Seemingly she did appreciate him as much as he did her. 

And it felt good. 

“So I probably should thank you,” she murmured, edging just a breath closer. 

The thought crossed Bellamy’s mind that maybe, just maybe, she did actually like him back.   
  
It would be so easy to turn his head and kiss her, to show her how much he liked her, how much he cared about her, how guilty he felt about every time their fighting went too far. 

But before he could, the door swung open, and Murphy barged in. 

“We have to be fast—“ he called over his shoulder, stepping fully into the room with Emori on his heels before he registered that there were other people in the room. 

Bellamy and Clarke flew apart, scrambling toward opposite ends of the couch as Murphy looked between the fireplace and each of them with a wide smile. 

“Looks like this room is already taken, babe,” he teased, waving his hand when they tried to argue with him. 

And before they could clarify anything, Murphy had already closed the door with a firm thud. 

“I—uh—we should get back to these forms,” Clarke said, clearing her throat as she turned toward their still massive pile of paper. 

Bellamy nodded in agreement, too shocked to even begin unpacking the gravity of what had just transpired between him and Clarke. 

***

Clarke awoke to a shrill trilling sound that most definitely wasn’t her alarm. 

There was a faint stream of the sun shining in her face, but even with all the disruptions, she was so comfortable that she couldn’t bring herself to move. 

The ringing stopped, and she’d almost fallen back asleep when the bed moved underneath her, shocking her awake enough to realize that she was lying directly on top of Bellamy. 

What she’d assumed was a blanket was just his hands, clasped around the small of her back. 

They were still in the president's suite, the completed piles of forms stacked neatly on the table and the faux fireplace still burning brightly, leaving the room suffocatingly hot. 

How they’d ended up in this bizarre position was completely beyond her. 

But Bellamy was still soundly asleep. 

He looked so peaceful that she would’ve left him, but the noise from earlier was from his phone. And now, it was ringing again. 

She knew from experience that Bellamy was a heavy sleeper. True to form, he didn’t wake after several prods and a shake. 

“Bellamy,” she said gently, rubbing a hand down his arm. The violent approach didn’t seem appropriate considering their position. 

His arms tightened around her waist, and he nuzzled his cheek into the top of her head. 

Clarke wanted nothing more than to tuck herself back against his chest and fall back asleep, but they had a shit ton of work to do, and Bellamy’s phone was ringing nonstop. 

“Five more minutes,” he murmured into her hairline, stroking a hand down her back. 

It sent a shiver down her spine, but again, she pushed forward. 

This was indeed an incredible test of willpower, especially after last night. 

They never really recovered past the awkwardness of Murphy’s interruption, but Clarke desperately wanted that moment back, the one where it seemed, for a second, he might kiss her. 

“Bellamy, cmon, you gotta wake up,” she nudged again, patting his cheek and hoping that would do the trick. 

With one last squeeze of his eyelids, Bellamy finally opened his eyes and met her with a dopey smile that made Clarke’s chest feel like it was full of syrup. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re impossible to wake up?” She teased, indulging the moment for a moment longer. 

“I’m so comfortable right now, I would pay a million dollars to never have to move again,” he sighed, stretching his neck from side to side. 

How exactly he could be comfortable with her entire body weight resting on top of his torso, was unclear. But Clarke couldn’t exactly complain about the position either. 

“Sadly, your phone has been ringing nonstop,” she said, mustering all her willpower to roll off him and onto the ground to find his phone. 

***

  
The rest of Friday whipped by in practice sessions, comparative government class, putting the final touches on the float and two halves of a Jimmy John’s sandwich that Bellamy shared with Clarke on their way to the stadium. 

After their final run-through, he was feeling more confident than ever about their skit. Even with the choreography changes and the music switch, it looked amazing. 

Miller had really nailed David Rose. The impression was shockingly spot on. 

And despite all of Bellamy’s doubts, Roma embodied Alexis quite well. 

Mainly, it was all thanks to Clarke. 

The stadium was roaring by the time they found their seats next to the group. The bleachers were packed, so they sat on staggered seats, with Clarke’s back framed by Bellamy’s knees. 

Staring at the back of her head, waiting for the skits to start, Bellamy finally had a few seconds to process the past two days. 

So much had happened, and he’d barely had time to breathe. 

But something definitely felt different with Clarke, like they’d tapped into something comfortable, something real. 

He wished he knew how to talk about it with her, but there didn’t seem like there was an organic way to bring it up. 

Before he could think about it any more, Murphy pushed a flask into his hand, urging him to take a discreet sip. 

Bellamy complied, mainly because he needed it after all the stress of all this. 

And then, he leaned forward, passing it off to Clarke, lingering as she took a quick sip and handed it off to Harper. 

“The skit is good, right?” She murmured, reaching up to cover the hand that he’d placed on her shoulder. 

“It’s amazing,” he agreed, turning his palm to join their hands as he leaned back into his seat. 

When the flask made its way back around to him, a crackle sounded over the loudspeaker, sparking it to life as Kane and the homecoming committee filed into the center of the football field and started the festivities. 

They gave the standard introductions, explained the premise behind the skits as if everyone in the audience didn’t know already. 

With little fanfare, Josephine and Gabriel were named king and queen, which was to be expected. 

It worked in their favor, awarded them points toward a win. 

“As much as I hate Josie, a hundred free points is still something,” Clarke whispered, leaning back into the cradle of Bellamy’s legs. 

He snorted, rolling his eyes at how irritated she looked at the mere mention of Josie. 

One of these days, he would figure out what the story was there. 

“Two hundred, since we’re two for two with Gabe,” he whispered back, hoping that Clarke wouldn’t shift away. The commentary between them was half of the fun. 

Finally, the skits began. 

Each was more elaborate than the last, jam-packed with carefully designed sets, choreographed dance routines 

Clarke stayed propped between Bellamy’s legs, elbow braced on his thigh as she quietly whispered her thoughts to him. 

Bellamy didn’t know much about dance, but he tried his best to make comments where he could, internally preening whenever he made Clarke laugh. 

A few times, he caught Harper and Monty glancing at them. Nobody seemed at all surprised by their sudden shift in behavior. 

“I think we’re next,” he said, shifting his focus from the knowing, unsettling smiles from his friends and back toward the show. 

The familiar music flipped on, and Miller ran across the field, nailing his first high kick, the one they’d practiced over and over in the front yard. 

They hit all the beats, and even with his limited knowledge base, Bellamy could tell it was really fucking good. 

Clarke gasped when Hope belted out a note to the song, reaching out to squeeze Bellamy’s hand. 

And she held it for the rest of the performance, beaming as her hard work paid off in front of them. 

They all stood to clap when it was over, holding the applause until the last pledge exited the field. 

“That was amazing,” Clarke beamed as they sat back down, finally letting go of Bellamy’s hand. 

He missed the warmth of it immediately. 

But she stayed close, practically vibrating with nerves while the final two groups performed. 

***

  
Second place in the skits competition. 

After all their hard work and practice, they’d got beat by Ontari and Shaw. 

It was the second-highest point total after the parade and left them tied for first place. 

Not terrible, but Clarke was disappointed. 

“Second place isn’t bad,” Bellamy called, emerging from the dark with a bag of popcorn in hand. 

Usually, Clarke’s first instinct would’ve been to lash out at him, to pick a fight and let off some steam. 

But instead, she found herself simply wanting to spend time with him, to be able to talk to someone who would understand how she felt. 

“Think about how you would react if someone said that to you and try again,” she replied, scooting to the side in the porch swing to make room for him. 

“Fair enough,” Bellamy chuckled, handing her the popcorn and settling in. “Losing is ass, second place sucks, but we still have the float contest. Don’t give up yet, princess.” 

The nickname stopped Clarke in her tracks. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d used it. But in context, he made it sound fond, and hearing sent butterflies fluttering in her stomach. 

She would never fully understand how she’s spent so long convincing herself that she hated this man. But every moment she’d spent with him recently, pushed her further and further from the irritation she’d once felt. 

Maybe she’d always know deep down that Bellamy understood her better than anyone else, but it felt good to know for sure now, to really know him. 

More than anything, she wanted to ask him to stay, to be able to be on the receiving end of that sleepy smile one more time before homecoming was over. 

But there was no right way to ask your pseudo-enemy turned co-leader, turned friend to snuggle with you the night before the biggest drinking day of the year. He probably wanted to spend the morning with his friends anyway. 

“Kind of crazy that it’s all over tomorrow, huh?” She asked weakly, poking Bellamy’s thigh with her toe. 

He smiled at her, soft and warm—tinged with something, sad. 

“It’s been an honor to be a tyrant with you, Griffin,” he grinned, tossing a piece of popcorn at her head. 

“Same to you, Blake,” she replied, hoping that he would understand how much she meant it, how sad she was that this was coming to a close. 

***

  
It was still dark when Harper tossed a skirt at Clarke’s head, one of the ruffled ones in bright ArkU red. 

“You can’t be serious,” she sighed, holding up the skirt. 

“It’s homecoming, live a little,” Emori cheered, throwing a crop top and a tiny temporary tattoo into the pile in her lap. 

“Someone get me a drink,” Clarke chuckled, hauling herself out of bed to put on the ridiculously tiny outfit. 

“Bellamy is literally going to pass out when he sees you,” Harper teased, pouring a generous glass of champagne and adding two drops of orange juice to it. 

Clarke flipped off her friend as she chugged the drink and started to get ready. 

Her stomach was fluttering with nerves, both over the judging decision and the prospect of today being her final day as co-leader with Bellamy. 

At least the outfit, while ridiculous, was hot. 

And it did the trick. When they arrived at the breakfast and booze party in the Tau Delt basement, Bellamy’s eyes went straight to her.   
  
“You ready?” He grinned broadly, jogging toward her and scooping her into a tight hug, spinning her around. There was a hint of champagne on his breath, mixed with the sharp mint of the gum stuck between his teeth, and despite herself, Clarke bumped her nose against his. 

Her smile faltered as he put her back on the ground, and she settled her hands on his shoulders, the light buzz from her mimosa going to her head. 

She didn’t want this to be over. 

And more so, she didn’t want this to be fake. 

But it felt like they were running out of time, like there was no way she could tell him without things being awkward and rushed. 

Like Cinderella at midnight, the second the judgment came out—hopefully, in their favor—their little bubble of friendship would pop, and Clare would lose her window. 

It was now or never. 

“I have an idea,” she whispered, centering herself firmly back on the ground before she took Bellamy’s hand and led him out the back door. 

In the chaos of the party, nobody noticed them leaving. 

“Is everything okay?” He asked, pulling her in by her hand, so her back was pressed to his chest. 

Clarke nodded, but didn’t trust herself to say anything else. 

She just kept moving, weaving through the crowd, past alumni with their babies in strollers waiting for the parade, past the football team huddled in a tight line, through booths with pots of chili and sizzling burgers. 

Until finally, they reached their float. 

“I’m going to say something,” she said, pushing herself up to sit on the edge of the float, bringing them face to face. 

Bellamy nodded, seeming confused, but he didn’t protest. 

“I was wrong about the theme,” she admitted, letting her lips tilt up in a smile as she remembered the argument that felt staggeringly far away now. “Schitt’s Creek was a better choice than The Good Place.” 

For a minute, Bellamy seemed taken aback, clearly caught off guard by where she’d taken the conversation. 

But then, he took a step closer. 

“I was wrong about the casting,” he replied, reaching out to trace a finger down one of Clarke’s curls. “Josephine wasn’t the right person for the part.” 

“I should’ve turned in the song choice sooner.” 

“I never should have yelled at you in front of everyone else.” 

They were only a breath apart now, the air between them thick as they admitted their wrongdoings. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t do this three years ago,” Clarke finally said, reaching out to cup Bellamy’s jaw in her hands, and finally, finally closing the distance between them. 

Almost immediately, he sank into it, stepping into the cradle of her legs and pulling her close—and then closed. 

It was the most beautiful, consuming kiss Clarke had ever experienced; fueled by three years of bickering and fighting and pent up emotions and apologies that should’ve been made a long time ago. 

There was a beauty to it all, holding each other on the float that had brought them together, the one that, at the time, Clarke was convinced would ruin her life. 

Bellamy pulled away just enough to press kisses to her cheeks, down her neck, nuzzling into her skin, and finally allowing Clarke to comb her hands through her hair. 

“You know what I’m not sorry about, though?” Bellamy murmured against her skin. 

“What?” Clarke giggled, pulling him back to peck another kiss to his lips. 

“Your terrible opinions on taxes,” he chuckled, kissing her soundly. 

“Agree to disagree?” 

“Just this once, princess, you’ve got yourself a deal.” 

And no matter what happened this afternoon, Clarke knew she’d won the parade, and homecoming, and everything else. 

Because somehow, against all odds, Bellamy Blake was most certainly the love of her life. 

**Author's Note:**

> I am most curious if other people's colleges did stuff like this, I know some that did and some didn't so I'm curious af! lmk I would love to know! 
> 
> Anyway, it feels so good to be back with y'all and to be back writing! I am sooooo glad to be back, it's been a weird fall but I have a bit of free time coming up and I am so ready to get my write on. I miss you guys and I love hearing from you please drop a comment if you liked this or if you just wanna be pals or if you wanna tell me what you ate for lunch! I adore hearing from you and getting to know you. I have been so bad about comments and I am so sorry about that, but I read and appreciate each and every one of them and try my best to reply. 
> 
> Be safe, be well, love each other always! 
> 
> Thank you to each and every one of you who has supported this initiative so far, it has really been a beautiful thing to be a part of and I'm excited to see it grow from here. I will link the caard as soon as I figure out how to do links on here, but you can also find all the info on our Tumblr! 
> 
> Also if you wanna be friends with me you can find me @nakey-cats-take-bathss on Tumblr. 
> 
> I LOVE Y'ALL SOOOO MUCH <3


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